Redemption
by AlwaysPadfoot
Summary: Augusta receives devastating news. As her world falls down around her, she attempts to right her wrongs.


AN: Prompts will be displayed at the bottom of the page to avoid them potentially giving away things.

* * *

 **Redemption**

 **Always Padfoot**

* * *

Augusta was sitting in the dining room for afternoon tea when the world turned upside down for the second time in her life.

Once again, the bearer of bad news was Albus Dumbledore.

Neville was dead.

Her grandson, the only thing she had left of Frank, had been murdered cruelly at the tender age of eleven by Lord Voldemort, and it was entirely her fault. Dumbledore had explained exactly how Alice and Frank's love had destroyed Quirrell — the vessel for Voldemort's soul — but in forcing Lord Voldemort's soul to cross the barrier into death, Neville had been brought along with him.

Neville could have returned. Dumbledore thought that he should have returned. But the bonds that tied him to life were too weak to compete with his longing to see his parents.

And that was Augusta's fault.

She could have lived with the pain, the guilt, the shame, if that had been the end of it. But it wasn't.

She looked down at the newspapers strewn across the kitchen table, her hand quivering as she leafed through each new headline of the week.

Hogwarts under Siege: Albus Dumbledore Steps Down as Headmaster as Attacks Continue

Death at Hogwarts: "Her Skeleton Will Lie in the Chamber Forever"

Who is Salazar Slytherin's Heir? Tom Riddle Steps Forth to Reclaim Legacy

The Return of Lord Voldemort: Dark Days Ahead

Fudge Steps Down as Minister of Magic; Albus Dumbledore to Become Leader of the Light

Stolen Wands or Stolen Magic? Muggleborns Must Register

The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore: Public Enemy No. 1

Yes. Augusta could have lived with her mistakes, had her son and grandson's sacrifices not been made in vain. Now, there was nothing left except the bitterness of failure and the doom of the wizarding world. She was under no illusion that Tom Riddle, the charismatic and intelligent Slytherin that had surfaced from nowhere, was the same person that she had known during her time at school. She only wished that Albus Dumbledore had had the foresight to tell her that he was the one that had become Lord Voldemort in the first place.

She didn't know how he did it, or what old magic he had used, but she knew. And she knew that she would have to use equally old magic if she wanted even a chance to redeem herself and make the wizarding world right again. Crossing over to the chest in which she locked up her most dangerous possessions, she broke the chain on the battered blood-red tome within, blowing the dust from the covers.

Magicke and Mortals, by Hecate the Powerful, Sorceress of the Crossroads.

Augusta hoped that Slughorn was up to the task.

* * *

As it turned out, Slughorn was not up to the task, but someone else was.

As Augusta made her way up the broken stairs, a feeling of apprehension overtook her. What if he had been taken? What if he had been killed? The cottage before her had several missing slates and one of the windows was broken. Cobwebs and ivy fought for prominence on rotted wood, and Augusta hesitated to use the knocker lest it crumble into dust before her.

Pull yourself together, woman.

Augusta readjusted her grip on her handbag, drawing strength from the vibrant colour, and knocked.

A great gust of wind stirred the fallen leaves around her, so strong that she reached up to maintain her hat in place, forgetting that she had left the conspicuous object at home that day.

'I am looking for the owner of the doe!' she called, reciting word for word the passcode given to her by Slughorn.

Abruptly, the wind stopped. The door swung open.

'Enter,' a voice called, nasal and sorrowful and challenging at once.

Augusta was never one to shy from a challenge.

* * *

Thirty-six hours later, as the clock neared midnight, Augusta felt the first flickerings of fear bloom in her bosom.

Severus Snape, her companion this past day, seemed to sense her apprehension.

'What, have you changed your mind now?' he asked snidely, his already pale face yellowing like tallow in the torch light.

'Don't be stupid,' she retorted. 'Focus on the potion. We cannot afford any mistakes.'

'I won't be the one to make mistakes,' he said firmly. He hesitated, then pressed on. 'Pettigrew is the key; you must know that. I know it seems far-fetched, I know it seems selfish to want to save… Lily… but he is crucial to the sequence of events. If he hadn't betrayed the Potters, then…'

'Then the Order would still be intact and my son and daughter would have been safe,' Augusta finished. 'I am quite aware of the conditions of my success.'

She looked at his pale face, the bags under his eyes, and forced herself to soften. The man had been up for nigh on forty-eight hours.

'I am grateful,' she said, the words feeling odd upon her tongue. But it was high time she loosened her hold on her pride. 'Without you, we would have no hope. Without you…'

She couldn't continue. The idea of her hope crumbling as soon as it arose was almost too much to bear.

'I'm not doing this for you,' he replied. 'I'm doing this for us all.'

Augusta watched as he added the dice, throwing each one high into the air, the six sides flashing in the torch light as they tumbled into the mustard yellow mixture and were absorbed into the potion. Twelve dice he threw, for each hour on the clock, each one stirred anti-clockwise to symbolise time turning back.

'It's time,' he said, and there was a quaver in his voice as he drew his dagger.

Augusta wanted to turn away, to avoid the sight of the blood magic, but she had brought this upon the young man and she was not going to abandon him in his time of need.

'You will save us all,' she said firmly, repeating his last phrase. 'There's no changing your mind.'

Severus Snape seemed to draw strength from that, and he raised the dagger high to bring it back down on his left arm, severing it at the elbow. She felt sick with gratitude that he was willing to make such a sacrifice.

Immediately, the mixture turned a bright gold, turning in on itself and condensing further and further until it looked solid to the touch. Steeling herself against the heat, Augusta plunged her arm into the cauldron, grasping the cool hand within.

The potion slithered up her arm, braiding itself like a rope until it circled her chest.

'Don't let go,' Severus Snape said, clutching his stump. 'Whatever you do, wherever it takes you, don't let go until it's gone.'

Augusta nodded crisply, her eyes on the empty cauldron before her.

When the clock struck twelve, the vortex arose, swirling black and purple as it sucked her back, through time and infinity, into the life of a certain Peter Pettigrew.

* * *

Peter knelt down on the wet springy moss, grateful for the plastic sheet he had managed to steal from the cupboard under the stairs. Dad wouldn't notice, and this way, Peter wouldn't have to wash his own muddy clothes on top of his Dad's. He retrieved the cardboard from its hiding place, a little worse for wear, but still protected from the elements by his makeshift wooden structure.

The numbers had gone, but that was okay. The snakes were still colourful, if faded, and the ladders didn't have too many rungs missing. He knew the board by heart anyway.

'I got some new dice, Mum,' he said. James and Sirius had helped him Transfigure them in earlier years, but now he was a fourth year, he could do it himself. 'They're the first ones that are just from me. They're green, your favourite colour.'

He rolled the dice on the board, revealing a six and a one.

'Seven's a magic number, Mum,' he said. 'But you know that already, don't you? They told me you cast Charms as easily as breathing. I'm trying my best, Mum, but I'm not as good as you yet. Sirius and James are, though. You'd love them.'

He threw them again.

'Eleven,' he said, smiling up at the framed picture on its tree stump. 'A bit of luck at last. That means I go first.'

And so the game went on, as he moved the tiny figurines he had found locked up in the attic across the board, up and down until one of them won.

'It was a good game, Mum,' Peter said, and his mother seemed to smile, her buck teeth so like his own, enhancing her beauty rather than taking it away. His own smile drooped. 'I'm fifteen now. I wish you were here, more than ever. Dad's getting worse. He's almost as bad as… you know when. You know better than anyone.'

He lapsed back into silence, but it wasn't as comforting as before. His yearly ritual seemed stupid. She wasn't listening, was she? If she had, she would have intervened by now.

'Please,' he prayed, tears squeezing out of the corner of his eyes, 'Mum, please. I need your help. Just… something. I can't stand it anymore. James, Sirius, Remus, they're leaving me behind, and soon I'll be left with him. I… I wish I was strong enough. Brave enough.'

He broke off as the photograph rattled. The oak crumbled, and he quickly snatched it before it could fall. Clutching the photograph close to his chest, he watched in amazement as a swirling vortex of black and purple appeared in the old tree trunk, sucking dead leaves and twigs into its whirlpool.

'Accidental magic?' he asked aloud, before dismissing the thought. He wasn't that powerful.

'No, Peter,' a woman's voice replied. 'But powerful magic indeed.'

'M-mum?' he asked hoarsely, falling to his knees as a form emerged from the vortex.

'Wrong again, child.' This time, Peter could see that the lady was elderly. 'But I am here to help.'

* * *

The moment Augusta heard Peter's voice through the vortex, she knew that she couldn't punish the child. That uncertainty, that dismissal of one's self, was so like Neville that she couldn't bear to witness the true extent of her destruction. That it came at the hand of Peter's remaining parent only made things worse.

She vowed there and then that she would do everything in her power to save him. It might be too late for her Neville, it might end up futile, but she knew in her bones that it was the right choice. After all, why would Hecate guide her to this very moment, if not to show her the scared boy behind the treacherous man?

I will be his redemption, she thought. And he will be mine.

'Tell me, child,' she said, making herself comfortable on his plastic sheet, careful not to use magic lest it was a Muggle neighbourhood. 'Tell me everything. And leave nothing out.'

* * *

It was as if every fairy godmother Peter had read about from his grandmother's old books were real. Even though his pureblood friends like James and Sirius had made fun of the magic in the Muggle fairy tales, he imagined that even they would have to admit she was one.

So, without hesitation, he told her everything.

He told her about his mother, and the way he remembered only her hair as soft as silk and her perfume that smelled of summer flowers. He told her about his father, and his inability to wrap his mind around Peter's accidental magic. He told her about the accident, about his father drinking too much, about his mother running forwards to stop him from driving out into the night and about how his father hadn't seen her in the dark. He told her about how he had learnt at a young age to suppress his magic, and how he feared that it would never fully return. And finally, he told her about his three best friends, about James and Sirius and Remus including him — him, of all people — in all of their games and jokes and plans, even though he felt like he could never live up to any of them.

His fairy godmother — he had never paused to actually ask her name — exclaimed and bit her tongue, but never said a word until he was done.

'Well,' she said briskly, when he was done. 'We'll just see about that, won't we?'

And with that, a burden he hadn't realised he was carrying was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. He closed his eyes. Perhaps the day had come when he would finally be free — all thanks to a mysterious woman born from a vortex on his mother's shrine.

* * *

The next year, when Peter came to his mother's shrine, everything was different.

There were two photos, side by side, both of his mother. One was the old one, perfectly preserved in a new frame. The other showed her smiling and waving in her Hufflepuff school robes, a small golden toad in her hands, its red and yellow hues blending perfectly with her Hogwarts crest. They rested atop a carved wooden stool — his fairy godmother had no stumps in her garden and refused to cut down the cedar trees — alongside the game of snakes and ladders. Around the area grew small flowers, daffodils and dandelions, buttercups and daisies. He thought she'd appreciate the fusion of magic and nature. Dice of all colours were arranged around his old wand — her wand — as his fairy godmother had bought him a new one of his own.

'It was quite easy for her to convince Muggle authorities that she was my godmother, in the end,' he said, as he finished that year's tale. 'I know we abandoned Dad, but she says that Dad abandoned us first, and that no one could help him but himself. I know it's awful, but I'm grateful to never have to see him again. I still don't know her name. She won't let me call her anything but Godmother or Gran, but… I know it's silly to say, but it feels just like magic. The Muggle kind.'

Peter smiled as he said this, his face splitting into a wide grin. It wasn't very warm that day, but the sun was shining, and he felt like he could do anything, be anyone.

And for once, the only person he wanted to be was Peter Pettigrew.

* * *

'Don't you see, Peter?' Sirius asked. 'It's pure brilliance!'

Augusta usually disapproved of eavesdropping, but this time, she made an exception for herself. She sat there, back rigid as she peered through the crack in the cupboard doorway. Now was the moment. She only hoped that she had made the right choice, all those years ago.

'It is,' Peter replied, and she could see the conflict on his face.

You are your own man, Peter, Augusta thought the words she so often repeated as she saw Peter mouthing them to himself. With your own strengths, your own weaknesses. You do not need to be like James and Sirius; you only need to be yourself.

She watched as the man she had come to think of her surrogate son steeled himself, his jaw tightening as he twitched nervously.

'But it's not for me,' Peter said, his voice high but determined. 'I love James like a brother. I love Lily and Harry dearly, but what you're asking of me…'

'What, have you changed your mind?' Sirius asked, drawing his wand.

'Of course not! But I cannot do what you want me to! I can't take the chance.'

'I would die for this chance, Peter!' Sirius said, and Augusta detected a hint of the Black madness about his manner. 'There should be nothing you wouldn't do for your friends.'

'There is nothing I wouldn't do for my friends!' Peter said more determinedly. 'And I'm keeping them safe by choosing not to become Secret Keeper. I know myself, better than anyone. I know Voldemort could wheedle it out of me—'

'You cannot reveal the Fidelius Charm under torture!' Sirius exclaimed.

'But what if it's not me they're torturing?' Peter cried. 'What if they tell me they'll kill everyone I know, everyone I love? I can't deal with that kind of burden, Sirius! I can make myself small as a rat, tail Death Eaters into their meetings. I can fight them, tooth and nail, with my friends by my side. I can spend hours rocking little Harry to sleep as you all go off on missions. But I cannot do this. Don't make me, Sirius, please.'

Augusta felt a surge of pride. It was one thing to stand up to your enemies, to the ones who meant you harm. It was another to stand up to the people who meant the most to you. Risking their disappointment was one of the hardest things in the world. She knew. Her disappointment had cost Neville his life.

The two men in the kitchen argued for what seemed like hours, as Sirius threatened, cajoled and cried, before Peter showed him out, directing him to Remus's house. Remus was not the spy; Peter was sure of it. And Remus had the courage to die before he would betray his friends.

Augusta emerged when Peter had his back turned, watching Sirius run down the garden path. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to hug her, breaking into sobs.

As she hushed him with murmured words of comfort, she realised that she had accomplished what she had set out to do. She had long ago realised upon seeing her former self at Diagon Alley with Frank that she was no longer in her own world, that her own world was already destroyed, and that the potion did not reverse time; it simply skipped it. Despite that, she was gladder than anything to have the opportunity to redeem herself for failing Neville so terribly, grateful that she'd had the chance to give Peter the care and kindness he deserved.

Augusta had stayed in the hopes of saving this reality from her own world's fate, and that night, she realised that she had succeeded. For an old woman approaching her eightieth birthday, she thought that wasn't so bad at all.

* * *

 _QLFC Finals Round 1 CHASER 3: Star Trek (reboot films): I used the concept of the wormhole & that you enter the past of an alternate reality whilst yours is still ongoing._

 _Optional prompts: Emotion: gratitude, Object: dice, Dialogue: "What, have you changed your mind now?"'_

 _Word Count: 3060_


End file.
